Sometimes Monsters Don't Have Claws
by precious-passenger
Summary: The pain almost hurts worse when you know something supernatural isn't doing it. Hurt!Sam, Hurt!Awesome!Dean, Abusive!John


Summary: The pain almost hurts worse when you know something supernatural isn't doing it. Hurt!Sam, Hurt!Awesome!Dean, Abusive!John

A/N: Hello my wonderful readers, I came bearing a wonderful gift. The gift of a friend. That's right. This one shot is co-written with one of my great friends, KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar (KHR:Hey guys. Precious-passenger rocks :D) and it's an honor to present this fic to you. We had so much fun writing this together and we might even do it again (KHR: We're doing it again). Follow her to get more of our SPN angst ridden stories (KHR: And maybe check out some of my stuff too!). And don't forget to leave a review. (KHR: Enjoy!)

* * *

Sam knew that he didn't want to be a hunter. Most kids his age wanted to travel the world and kick some ass in one way or another, but the fourteen-year-old had had enough moving around to last a lifetime. All he really wanted was to go to college, get a job, and have a stable home. John, however, couldn't accept that.

Whenever the boy brought it up, huge arguments would take place, often resulting in tears. It was even worse when John was drunk.

"You are such a fucking disappointment, boy. Why can't you be

more like Dean?" Sam remembered his father slurring one night. Dean was off on a small case- at sixteen, he was deemed trustworthy enough- so the kid was stuck by himself. Normally, his brother would at least be there to comfort him.

Dean was never home on the worst nights.

Sometimes, Sam felt like John had planned it that way, knowing his older son's protective streak. Or maybe John was just reminded of the wife he lost thirteen and a half years ago whenever he was with his youngest.

Either way, it seemed to Sam that maybe it was his fault for being such a failure. Maybe if he wasn't the awkward kid who liked to do homework, his dad would love him more. Maybe instead of being smart at school and getting good grades, he'd sharpen his reflexes on hunts, his dad wouldn't look at him like he was a failure.

Sam had learnt the hard way that 'creativity' wasn't something desirable for John Winchester. It should be pure obedience, 'yessir'- like Dean. Then, his dad would order him to do more laps and wouldn't let him stop until Sam was nearly collapsing. By the end, he would say that this would be a lesson for him on how to be a better hunter next time.

Next time? What part of not wanting to become a hunter was hard to understand?

How many more nights was Sam supposed to cry himself to sleep, biting his hand to keep from sobbing aloud?

That night, he tried to extend the shower time and stall eating dinner, playing with his food until John's sharp, "Quit playing around and eat it already, boy" got him out of his thoughts. He held his tongue so he wouldn't comment on how John's 'dinner' consisted of booze.

At that moment, they heard several knocks on the front door.

John got up from the table and looked through the peephole. "Password?" he grumbled.

Sam couldn't hear the response but was ecstatic to see Dean walking into the grimy motel room. Thank God, he thought, the worst is over for now.

"Hey, squirt! Meet any hot chicks while I was gone?" the older brother joked, dropping his duffel bag on their bed.

Sam chuckled under his breath. Dean's mind was constantly in the gutter. He had recounted the tale of when he had gotten laid by that hot cheerleader, Anne James, at least eight times.

Nevertheless, the boy rolled his eyes before responding, "No, Dean. I'm not a giant man-slut like you."

"You wound me!" the eighteen-year-old laughed, "But seriously, are you okay?"

The other boy knew what the right answer was: yes, he was fine. He had to admit, though, he was really tempted to tell his big brother how much their dad's words were hurting him.

Sam sighed, "Yes, I'm good."

"What about that girl I saw you talking to the last time I picked you up from school?" Dean asked, returning to their previous thread of conversation, "What's her name, again? Madison?"

"Madeline," the younger brother groaned.

"Ooh, yeah. How could I forget? The awesome Madeline with Latina skin and legs like..."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam said, smacking his brother's arm, which he easily dodged, catching Sam in a tight headlock.

"Or is it her brother, Casper, that caught your eye?"

"Ugh, Dean," Sam squeaked, trying to get out of his brother's hold.

"Dean?" their father called from the other side of their small room and Dean immediately sobered up, dropping the happy go lucky face and turning all business. Sam hated seeing that look on the boy's face.

"How was the hunt, son?" John asked, eyeing the youngest Winchester menacingly.

Their father also had a small plate of microwave food with him that he offered to his eldest son. Dean had to gulp down hard, his eyes watching the steam rising from the food.

However, Dean's face had lost all color.

"It… it was… i-it escaped."

"I can't hear you, boy. Answer me," John roared, losing the little patience he had.

"The Wendigo escaped, sir," Dean said, trying to make himself smaller against his father's murderous gaze.

"And how many died?" he asked with dead calm in his voice. Sam shivered.

"S-six," the young hunter mumbled, trying desperately not to look into his father's eyes or smell the booze on his breath.

John grabbed Dean's face roughly. "How many, boy?"

"Six," he said more clearly.

The boys' father threw his oldest to the ground and kicked him hard in the stomach. "Do you know how fucking stupid you are? You couldn't hunt one goddamn Wendigo. Because of you, more people are going to get hurt before I can go out tomorrow morning and gank the sonovabitch!" John yelled, not caring about the tears in either one of his kids' eyes.

Dean's jaw had dropped at the fact that his father had intentionally hurt him. I can't do this right now, he thought. Quickly, he got up, avoiding his dad's legs. He grabbed his duffel bag from near the door and flew out into the parking lot.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, but he knew it was too late. He heard the engine of the Impala running from inside the room. He began to cry, feeling like Dean might never come back and not blaming him if he didn't.

John quickly turned, "Oh, I'll give you something to cry about, Sammy. You're worse than him."

* * *

One… two… three…

Sam counted slowly in his head. He'd read somewhere that counting was a good way to calm down. This was the fifth time he'd count to three and his father, John, Sam's mind corrected begrudgingly, wasn't stopping. He couldn't call the man in front of him his father. Not anymore.

Dean…

His mind reached out to unlock his memories, trying to prove to him that life wasn't always this shitty. That this was the booze talking and his father loved him.

Dean, please.

Riding on the kid next door's bicycle and Dad finding out. John ordered Sammy to stay in the room as he took Dean outside. Half an hour later, Sam heard the roar of Impala and Dean entering the room, limping.

"It was nothing, Sam. Dad and I were just talking," his brother smiled half heartedly before burying himself under blankets.

"You worthless piece of shit. It's your fault. It's all your fault," the present day John shouted hoarsely. Sam let out a loud whimper, which John silenced immediately with a loud slap.

He remembered ice-creams in hot summer days and hot chocolate in freezing winter. He remembered cuddling and snow and Dean reading to him and-oh.

All of those good memories were with Dean.

Now that he really tried thinking about it, Sam only think of one good memory with his… John. The grizzled hunter had sat with his son, held him, and told him that there were no monsters under the bed. That had been about ten years ago. The rest of the time was just harsh words and absences.

All Sam really had was his brother. His brother, who fed him first and ate later. His brother, who tucked him in at night when he was a kid. His brother, who took the heat for him 90 percent of the time.

His train of thought was suddenly cut off as he heard a loud cracking in his ribcage, followed by excruciating pain.

Dean, where are you?

* * *

Dean, at that moment, was on his way back to the motel. He had driven off in a mad frenzy, eager to put as much distance between himself and his father as possible. Although they hurt, words were very much preferable. God, the last time John had hurt him was…

Who even let their kid bring a bike to a motel? Dean thought. He was tired of Sammy whining about that guy's pretty bike and how he promised Sam that he could ride it. Dean didn't fail to remind the boy that he knew nothing on how to ride bikes, but his brother turned his big, pleading eyes on him and confidently said, "You'll teach me."

With that one sentence, Dean's heart had melted. He couldn't say no. So, after checking the area, and armed with his bowie knife, he unlocked the door. Sam ran out of the motel room and went to knock on one of the doors. After a long chat with a scrawny looking kid, Sam returned, proudly pushing the bike.

It didn't took Sam long to get the hang of it. The boy was smart. It was funny to watch his baby brother scrunch up his nose and stick out his tongue in concentration. Soon, Sam was racing Dean in the street. Dean was breathless from running, but it was a good kind of fatigue when it was accompanied by his baby brother's giggles.

But, then, suddenly, the boys heard the familiar roar of Impala and froze on spot. John Winchester came into view shortly, glaring at them. Sam clutched on the brakes, nearly crashing into his brother.

"Dean," John growled at the eleven-year-old, "What are you two doing?"

Dean's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. His dad wasn't supposed to be home for three more days. Had the witch taken that little time?

The oldest Winchester said, as if reading his kid's thoughts, "That bitch was easier than I anticipated. But that isn't the issue. What is it that I specifically told you and your brother to stay inside!"

Both boys tried to rush inside, but John snatched his oldest by his collar and held him outside. "I'm not finished with you yet, boy."

It was fuzzy from then on out, with only the feeling of pain left over. The boy could barely walk by the time he was allowed to go back inside.

The first thing he registered was Sam crying and asking, "Dean, did you get in trouble for me?"

Dean sighed. He couldn't let his baby brother thinking that he had done something wrong by wanting to have fun.

"It was nothing, Sam. Dad and I were just talking," he said, trying to crack a smile before he buried himself in blankets.

That had been the first and last time his dad, his hero, hit him. John had promised. He begged him not to tell Sam about it, as if Dean was going to go tattle to his little brother. Words hurt him, sure. But, a kick to the gut, even a slap to the cheek shattered him.

With a jolt, Dean realized that he'd left Sam at their father's mercy. Their very drunk father's mercy. And John Winchester wasn't a happy drunk. He'd curse and break everything, including Dean's heart.

But Dad wouldn't hurt Sammy, right? Sam was his favorite boy. The one he loved most. Sure, Dean was the most obedient one but the passion which John spoke with Sam was never present when talking to Dean.

Man up. Stop being such a wuss.

Dean whispered to himself as he put more force on the gas pedal.

He hoped that he wasn't late.

* * *

Sam could feel blood trickling from his mouth and he tried to block his father with his hands, wishing he had the force to push the man off. But, that only seemed to anger John more as insults rained on Sam's trembling figure. He could faintly hear a sound coming from outside, but he didn't know if he was imagining it from the pain or not. Sam tried so hard to stay awake, but he didn't think that he could any longer. He had just closed his eyes and almost succumbed when the door was kicked in.

"Sammy!" he heard his brother yell. The boy opened his eyes in time to watch John get knocked out cold.

Dean rushed over and put his hand on the kid's shoulder, and he pulled away, wincing. "Shit, Sammy, we have to get you to a hospital."

Sam closed his eyes again. His mouth felt like it was full of butter, but he tried to say anyway, "No h'spital. M'fine."

His brother let out a bitter chuckle. "If you're okay, then I'm the Queen of England. Now, I'm going to lift you up, alright?"

The limp boy didn't register what Dean said until he was off the ground. He cried out in pain, and promptly passed out.

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Dean muttered as he placed his brother in the backseat of the Impala. How could John do this? What had snapped and convinced him that it was okay to hurt his kids?

He had to get Sam to some kind of doctor. Pastor Jim was too far away and Bobby… Bobby would kill John.

Now that Dean was thinking more clearly, there was the matter of getting Sam to the hospital. Forget insurance and the bills, they could get caught by CPS. He could be passed as a guardian for Sam, but one look at the unconscious boy and it screamed: abuse.

With a jolt, Dean had realized he would have to patch Sam up himself. In the stifling Impala that smelled like spoiled food. Dean could barely see through the blur of tears clouding his vision. He sniffled and quickly wiped them away with his sleeve. He leaned over Sam after running out to get the first aids kit from the trunk of the car.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. So so sorry," he whispered brokenly, every time Sam winced as he tried to clean his wounds and wrap them up.

"It's okay, Dean. No need to cry," Sam's quiet voice filled the car and Dean looked up in surprise.

"It's okay," Sam repeated. "It was my fault."

"No, it's not. It's my fault. I-I shouldn't have ran out like that," Dean croaked.

The younger boy coughed harshly before continuing, "If I wasn't such a disappointment, he wouldn't be so hard on you. I just need to train more, stop putting so much effort into school-"

"No!" his brother yelled, startling both of them, "You are not a disappointment, like, at all. Did Dad tell you that?"

The tears in the fourteen-year-old's eyes said everything.

Dean gently took his brother's face in his hands, a tear rolling down his face. "You are not a disappointment. Doing well in school if fantastic if it makes you happy. Don't ever listen to that bastard again."

Sam sniffed, trying not to move, "But what are we gonna do?"

The older Winchester paused. Pastor Jim was too far for immediate help, but he might let them crash with him until Dean could find a job.

"Whatever we end up doing, we're going to be fine. I've always got you, Sammy."


End file.
